Tyrion watched as a knot of people emerged from the direction of the Wierwood. They seemed to be carrying a long chest. No, not a chest, a door; removed from its hinges and used as a stretcher. Someone had been hurt. Then he saw Jaime, following behind the stretcher – he looked like a man lost to the world. White-faced and trudging along unaware of the people around him. So who was on the stretcher? Tyrion hurried forward and stopped the little procession. He knew, even without lifting the wet shroud, that this was Cersei. "What happened?" he demanded of the young Maester Sam Tarly – one of those carrying the stretcher. "We found him by the pool – he doesn't respond, like his mind has been taken. We found her floating in the water." He looked terrified but Tyrion trusted him so he left Cersei to Sam's care and went to Jaime. Jaime did indeed look like a man who had left his senses behind. "Jaime, what happened? Jaime!" Tyrion grabbed his coat and shook Jaime hard – he paused his trudging and looked down absently at his younger brother. "She walked into the water – just walked. I couldn't find her". Tears started, and Jaime seemed to collapse within himself somehow. The cold yard was no place for this. Tyrion grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the hall.
Slumped against the wall, the cup of hot wine untouched in front of him, Jaime told what he had seen. His voice dull and flat, his eyes were full of pain. Tyrion felt like his world had turned over. Cersei had been his adversary for so long. She would never look on him with barely disguised disgust – ever again. He should be happy. No, he should be ecstatic – Cersei was dangerous, vicious and often unpredictable. Allowing Joffrey to order Ned Stark's execution was a prime example. But he felt, what? Loss, grief? Certainly pain. He looked over at Jaime and knew that his brother, at least, was free of her at last. Leaving for battle was a physical removal, but now there could be no going back. Tyrion wondered what would change for Jaime now.
Sam had them lay Cersei out in the vault. She had no more use for warmth and she needed to be cleaned, wrapped and laid to rest. He had them strip her, which they did with reverence and care. Her body was that of a woman. After four children she was no longer so young and lithe, but still beautiful, and the pain of her loss had been smoothed from her face. Sam washed her gently and at the same time checked for marks that might give a clue to her death, As he turned her onto her side water gushed out of her mouth – she drowned then, he thought, just as Jaime said.
Theon Greyjoy made sure the final preparations were underway, left them to it and went in search of Jaime. He found him in the hall, silent and pale with the Imp. Theon had never liked Jaime's younger brother, never trusted him. He was too clever by half. Which meant simply that he was more clever than Theon, who was a fighter at heart. He had always hated and mistrusted the Lannisters, the people of the Iron Islands mistrusted everyone outside their own lands, and many of the people inside. But now he knew they must combat the threat from the North together. He was pragmatic enough to accept that he needed to work with Jaime, even with enthusiasm. But the Imp? There was something wrong with a man so deformed acting like he was a real Lord like Jaime and being just too clever. Nonetheless he approached with courtesy – his training at Winterfell had not gone amiss. "Jaime, they are finishing up. We will be ready to leave before first light." Jaime didn't seem to hear but finally raised his head and focussed on Theon. "I will be ready." This time he took his wine, cold now for some time and downed it in a couple of gulps. Then he stood and walked out. Theon and Tyrion looked at each other."I trust you will care for my brother once you leave. He will need to keep busy." Theon glared down at the little man. "I know what it is to lose family." The look in Tyrion's eyes stopped him, he had lost family too, Theon had forgotten that. "I will look out for him." Tyrion nodded, "I thank you."
The cold air in the yard started to penetrate Jaime's fog of pain and he knew he must put this Cersei's death aside for a while. He was a soldier – he had been a White Guard – he was capable of leading this army even in his grief. He went and checked the preparation of the horses and the armour. It was all just about done, the animals alert and seemingly aware that a great action was about to begin. He stroked his own horse, ruffling the mane and forelock. The animal's sweet breath and body heat comforted him a little. He rested his forehead briefly on the warm neck.
The rest of the day was spent in farewells, with many tears but no hysterics. And as the feast-time approached the soldiers and officers gathered in the hall. The servants delivering trenchers, flagons of wine and great dishes of meats and bread. It was not so thoughtless a waste as it looked. The meats being served were those that could not be stored so easily, the offal that would not last even in smoked sausages and the trimmings cooked into thick stews. But there were also some large joints too to carve into.
Tyrion looked for Marriet but didn't see her, assuming she was working in the kitchen rather than serving at table. So he let his eyes wander round the gathered people, packed onto the benches as no-one wanted to miss this final feast. Jaime was silent, brooding, but Theon would talk to him and was obviously trying to keep him out of himself. The rest of their little army was largely made up of the bannermen of the Starks. Logical since they were mostly from the North, closer when the call went out and more used to the cold – even if this was worse than most of them had ever experienced. Some were in the Black; the Night's Watch had withdrawn from the Wall before the cold killed even them. Most of the Night's watch were at the Dreadfort, East of Winterfell, and would meet up with his force further north. Here at Winterfell, only the older men remembered the last winter. Tyrion recalled that many of the men here had been dragged in to support his arrest by Catelyn on the road south. That seemed so long ago now. So many people had died, or been scattered around the Seven Kingdoms and beyond. It hardly seemed relevant anymore.
At first glance it was a cheerful gathering, but Tyrion could see the tension in the men and the over-smiling chatter of the women. Smiles that did not reach the eyes, where the pain of imminent loss hovered. The drink flowed, there was no real need to husband it, there would be plenty left for the remaining people and the water supply was safe. Let them enjoy themselves; but he did not envy them the hang-overs they would be taking with them in the morning. As the feast went on, the food waned but the wine held out and the hall grew louder and more raucous. A fight broke out at the far end and the others moved in swiftly and pulled the men apart. Jaime had been right to ban long weapons in the hall tonight, but everyone had a knife for eating with. And they did not need any more death before the parting. The racket seemed to act as a barrier, leaving Tyrion feeling like he was sitting alone, watching a mummer's play, even among so many people. No-one was talking to him; Jaime was barely talking at all. Still he watched; men vying with each other with their bravado, girls hiding their tears as they served or sat on the laps of their favourites. Some of the couples left the hall and went to seek their comfort in private. One or two didn't bother and coupled right there on the benches much to the amusement of their neighbours. He smiled; he was lusty but did not fancy being such an exhibition. Jaime noticed the activity and told Theon to stop them – but Tyrion stopped him. "Let them be, most of them will never feel warm again, let alone feel a woman." He went and fetched more wine instead.
The night wore on and the wine ran out, in fact Tyrion had ordered the servants to stop providing it to allow the men a chance of making it to the morning capable of riding. And the gathering gradually broke up – many people were sleeping already, scattered around the hall, making the most of the heat from the fires. Jaime and Theon were now talking and discussing what they might meet on the road. Tyrion left them to it. "Goodnight brother, I will see you off tomorrow, just be careful not to pack me on your horse like a spare baggage. I have no desire to weigh you down." Jaime looked at him a wan smile for his little brother. "You are not a burden, brother." Tyrion was astonished into silence and his heart thudded in his chest. It was the most generous thing anyone in his family had every said to him and he feared the heat behind his eyes bespoke tears. He turned and stalked away, desperate to be out of the hall before he explored his feelings. In his room, alone and facing the loss of his brother, possibly for good, he felt a crushing loneliness overwhelm him. After Jaime he had only his nephew Tommen and niece Myrcella for family. For what it was worth, he would rather have a bad family than none, and his seemed to be disappearing rapidly. This time the tears came and he climbed onto the bed and hugged himself into the furs and wept out his loss.